The Resistance
by toomanydamfandoms
Summary: Dystopian AU. She's mentally broken too. Ever since she was separated from her family, Eliza's been lost. Through the years she slowly forgot most of her memories, letting her fears and painful memories flow in her mind instead. Eliza lost everything she had and cherished the most, she lost her family, her happiness, her joy, her dignity. Eliza lost herself. WIP. Hamliza. Rated M.
1. Eliza

**A/N** : So, this has been a story I had for a couple of days now and I wanted you guys to know how you feel about it. Comments and Suggestions...please? Just in case, this isn't beta'd.

 **Warning: Mentions of rape and torture.**

 **Ch 1 Summary:**

The Number 9; Dignity; Her Mother; Abigail.

* * *

 _Even the brightest stars in the universe can be destroyed by black holes._

 _A bit of sunlight shone into my face earlier this morning. It was rare but it was there. I cherish these moments when I see at least a ray of light from my window rather than these blaring lights from the ghastly expensive chandeliers. And sometimes when luck is on my side, I can steal a glance of dusk outside. It was always beautiful to me. I can remember when my family and I go out after supper and just take in the mesmerizing view of the sky._

 _Bits and tiny parts are all I can remember from my childhood. But when I think about them, my head hurts. So, I try to think of them sometimes only._

 _Someday, I can go out and enjoy the sun setting down but not now. Not tomorrow. Soon. Just... Maybe._

 **-Eliza Schuyler, May 21, 2145**

Nine. Nine stitches she needed for her wounds.

Eight. Eight days since Eliza hadn't caught a glimpse of sunlight.

Seven. Seven hours of crying.

Six. Six screams that passed her lips that day.

Five. Five minutes Eliza stared into nothingness.

Four. Four times Eliza had been whipped.

Three. Three bruises on her pale face.

Two. Two eyes filled with fear and agony.

One. One dignity lost a long time ago.

Eliza curled up in a ball, hugging her chest while she sobbed on her hard rock bed, thinking of better times which was nearly nonexistent. It was like this almost every night. Picture a lonely, battered girl, scars littering her skin, fresh bruises and cuts. Her hair matted with dirt and soil, long and very rough. She was frail and malnourished, you'd have to be blind not to see and realize.

She's mentally broken too. Ever since she was separated from her family, Eliza's been _lost_. Through the years she slowly forgot most of her memories, letting her fears and painful memories flow in her mind instead. Eliza lost everything she had and cherished the most, she lost her family, her happiness, her joy, her dignity. Eliza lost herself.

Dignity; dignity is knowing that you are worthy of respect, worthy of honor, worthy being treated like a human, knowing you are worthy of living. It is such a close word to Eliza but funnily enough, she doesn't have any dignity left. It was gone when she lost her family but never really felt it until she was treated like an animal. Dirty, disgusting, bitch, poor. Unworthy.

The only thing keeping her sane is her journal. Everyday she writes pieces of her day or at least describes it. Eliza writes her pain and agony on that notebook. She treated it like her life depended on it. It did, in some way. She wrote every little moment that made her happy, every milestone, every time she sees the sunlight, every time she's drowning in pain, every time she wanted to die.

Eliza hugged her chest a little tighter and breathed raggedly. Thinking that she still had more chores to do. She got up and went to her tiny bathroom, if you could call it a bathroom. Turning the faucet on and splashing some water on her face where traces of tears are visible, grimacing when the cold water hit her face. She caught a look of her herself on the mirror, flinching at the sight of bruises and cuts and her almost black eyebags. Momentarily, she eyed the broken shard of glass at the corner of her floor and imagining it glide through her skin, deep red blood falling down the floor and pooling on her feet.

She shook away her thoughts, thinking back to when she _actually_ attempted suicide and failing badly. Eliza got nothing out of it but the deep cuts on her wrist and three broken bones. By now, she really is battered; some wounds won't heal that fast and scars last longer than you think. It was painful-yes, so much-but Eliza made a promise to herself that she'd get out this hellhole and die in a far better place than this. She could feel tears dripping down her cheeks-still not believing that she has tears left- reminding herself that she had experienced worse situations than earlier.

The feel of dirty hands loitering -touching her skin like money. She could still remember the sound of her own clothes getting ripped into pieces, shreds of it falling down her knees. Eliza had been gagged at that time, hands tied with a knot, so painful it had taken weeks to heal the marks. She wanted to scream, thrash and escape but she can't. She knew she can't. Instead, she lied down the bed that night, still and frozen, too weak and frail to react of the feel of the painful touches and the forceful kisses. And after that, she _never_ believed in love again.

 **Dirty** , that's what she described herself. Eliza felt dirty, she was treated like dirt, she was dirty inside and out. Wondering why she wasn't dead yet but already experienced being raped, detained and tortured. She thought it wasn't because she was brave, no, it was because she deserved this. As how unfair it was, she accepted it as her own fate nonetheless. This is her life, her unlucky destiny that she had been given.

At least she can still remember her mother's face, it was blurry for sure but it made her feel safe for once. It was real and soft, so comforting like she's a radar of happiness. Cath? Kate?... Eliza wasn't sure what her name was, but she's sure it was as beautiful as her face. Her mother was raven haired like her, slick and straight and had a blue tinge on. She had wrinkles on her face even while in a youthful age but it was clearly from laughing too much. With a lovely shade of light skin completely different from Eliza's ashen one. But when she looks at her own reflection on the mirror, it was like seeing her mother, but more vibrant and more cheery than herself. Eliza can feel her mouth quirking up, her mother-even if she can't remember her that much-always made her smile. And how she could kill someone just to be with her, to hug her, to be _loved_ by her.

But for now, all she can do is hug her own small figure that looks about to be crushed even under her weight. Lonely and miserable, she had no one left for her. The only emotion she had been given in this house other than anger and disgust is pity. Pity, Eliza doesn't want to be pitied, she'd rather face pain again and again than be shown with pity in their eyes. Why would they show it to her? It's useless, there's nothing you could do. So why waste your time pitying a battered girl but can't save or help her?

Then again, it was only Abigail Adams that had shown pity in her eyes for Eliza. Abigail, she's the daughter of Abigail Sr. and John Adams. One of the only tolerable child of the five children. Eliza can't really tell what she's up to, Abigail's mysterious as fuck. She's also twenty years old like Eliza but she's clearly more... Presentable to look at. Eliza? She looked like a fifteen year old for fuck sake. Eliza couldn't describe her as a friend or an enemy, again she's a big mystery. Sometimes she could feel Abigail's gaze when she's being tortured. She's the one reason Eliza's still living too. The extra food she gives or the medicine she hands when Eliza's in pain.

But Eliza still doesn't consider her as anything close to a friend or a family yet not an enemy after all of what she had helped her. Abigail, when she comes into her room just tends to Eliza's battle scars quietly but with persistence. They never spoke to each other, only small 'thank yous' and nods to one another. And dear Eliza couldn't help but feel thankful for her everyday. Even though she gets mostly and probably gets scolded for helping her, she doesn't stop do doing so.

Eliza doesn't consider her as a friend because she's the enemy's daughter, no, but because all of this mysterious shit and helping she had done. Again, it's like she's up to something Eliza can't tell. She doesn't like surprises or to be surprised. She just wants to know what she's up to. She could sometimes hear Abigail talking to someone alone inside her room. Always talking about 'she'. Who's 'She'? Why was she talking to someone? Is this some kind of plan? And this is the reason why Eliza still felt uncomfortable under Abigail. Abigail's hiding something.

Eliza felt scared at first because she thought it was a ploy and Abigail is just being kind to her for a darker reason. But the talking went on more frequently and that's when she became anxious. Always trying to sneak into Abigail's room and tried to look for something useful. Once, she got inside and it was nothing she expected. The room was almost too simple for an elite family like the Adams', but the thing that shocked her even more were the maps littering around her walls, data plans, blue prints. It scared her but Eliza's curiosity was in it's highest peak, so she went on. Abigail's desk was a mess, notes highlighted with red markers and names she didn't know, and she found out a piece of paper with her name on it, encircled with red.

Her breathing hitched and her eyes widened. But that got quickly cut out by Abigail. She was standing there on her bedroom door, eerily still and quiet. Eliza locked eyes with her for a moment. In her two orbs were something Eliza can't tell, it was swirling with different kinds of emotions. Annoyance, Confusion, Anger... And _Hope?_ That was weirder than finding out this whole crap. But seriously, hope? Why hope? That's something Eliza wants to know what it is so much. Then Abigail said "Get out of my room, Eliza." It was not a command but a request, it was soft and almost a whisper. Eliza fervently obliged and got out fast. And she heard Abigail sigh in... Relief? "Almost." She heard Abigail say again. _Almost?_

That was two weeks ago and she hasn't seen Abigail for almost a week already. Yet she was always going out most of her days, so Eliza wasn't that too surprise she isn't here at the moment. But the thing is, she was always here when Eliza's in pain. And let's go back to the present, Eliza staring into her mirror. Her black hair is soiled and filthy like her. She tried to smile but it turned into a pained grimace instead. With a sigh, Eliza stripped down until she was bare naked. Marks, the marks are there as clear as it could be. The roughness of the lines, it's grossly red color, some dry and scabbed. Her ribs are sticking out of her skin and her collarbones were deep.

Eliza got in the tight shower stall, small amounts of water dripping to her hair as she turned it on. Feeling calm and collected at least for now. She loved the water, it was tranquil and relaxing. Something that made Eliza relax other than her mother or the dusk. It flowed gracefully down her body, the cool liquid relieving her painful nerves. Cleaning the wounds and cuts, her nest for a hair and her bruised face with only a bar of soap. Rinsing all the dirt away and dabbing her damp skin with a skimpy towel. She is clean, well on the outside. Inside? Her soul felt like it took a dip in darkness. **Tainted**.

Eliza took a final glance on the mirror, it showed her mother-whatever her name was. Beautiful and vibrant, Eliza wanted to be like her. She got out of the bathroom and searched for any remaining clean clothes she can wear. Her walls, painted with bland grey were vandalized with white stick counting of how many days she had been here. There was hundreds of thousands of them. She never forgot to add one stick each day and now she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote down a single stick for today, May 30.

Trying to wear her clothes without falling and stumbling onto the floor. The clothes were baggy and a size bigger than hers. Uncomfortably itchy and rough against her skin. She cared not at all, Eliza got used to it already that she didn't give a flying fuck. Sighing because she finally finished dressing up without any hassle after and sitting at the edge of her bed without any reason. She licked her chapped lips slowly and feeling a wave of dizziness hit her. Eventually she gave in and fell onto her bed, head on her pillow and the thin blanket wrapped around her body. Closing her eyes, letting the dark depths of her mind drown her to sleep. And she did.

Little did she know, a blonde grey eyed woman took a peek at the door. It was slightly open and her eyes sparkled with something. The mystery girl closed the door with a click and sighed contentedly. And she whispered to her watch saying:

"She's okay, for now."

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 **Chapter:** 1

 **Word Count:** 2,369 words


	2. Abigail

**A/N:** I am so sorry in advance. So sorry...

 **Warning: Depictions of violence and torture. And triggering factors that you guys might be uncomfortable with. Be warned.**

 **Ch 2:**

Tear-stained; Blood.

* * *

 _Screams._ High pitched moans. Shrieks of agony and pain. It swirled back and forth around her head, the aching sounds too much for her. A whip, and another... And another. She closed her eyes, feeling as if it was intruding to even think of it nor heed it. But she couldn't help it, it was distracting to say the least. It was daytime, 2 pm like the sun says outside but you couldn't see any sunlight here-all curtains closed, windows locked and any bit of light from outside will be kept outside. The stereotypical rich family they'll say. And they were.

She didn't expect the screams would get higher and louder but it did. You could feel the agony whispering in your ear and the pain hugging you tight. The atmosphere wasn't helping neither-it was deadly quite and silent. It only highlighted the sounds of torture just across the hall. Another one-a whip with a scream far more painful than the others. Her heart raced and it felt like it would burst out any minute now.

If she could see herself in a different perspective right now, she'd expect a child of blonde and grey eyes, her figure just right for her age but her lips usually in a tranquil smile would turn into a grimace. If you'll look into her eyes-you could see the chaos flowing around like mist. Her knees buckled and shook. It was fear hugging her again-wrapped around her like a blanket in a winter night. But it was cold and not at all comforting. Another whip. She breathed slowly, her chest rising-beating ever so rapidly.

Her eyes wandered to her mother, Abigail Adams, her namesake. The epitome of a stiff, proper woman who lived her life getting what she wanted. Abigail Sr. had a blank expression painted on her pointy face-acting like she was oblivious of the cries of pain just outside the parlor. Unlike her mother, she wasn't bearing a bored face, she's fidgeting uncomfortably, flinching uncontrollably. This confused Abigail (Jr.), how could her own mother not notice or even close her eyes while screams could be heard from the other side? She looked longingly upon her mother, begging for some answer or perhaps a clue.

"Mothe-"

"Abigail, come forth." Abigail (Sr.) patted her an open space for Abigail to sit beside her. Abigail (Jr.) skipped lightly as she went across the room to her mother.

Abigail (Sr.) turned her straight body to where her daughter was seated and started pleating her blonde hair. Dainty hands skimmed the little girl's silky hair, braiding it into beautiful weaves. "Abigail-" she pulled her hair tight, Abigail (Jr.) flinched. "- _remember_ that no one-" tighter, she moaned internally. "-mustn't know what took place here-" even tighter, she tried to pull back but she couldn't. "- _do you understand, Abbey_?" Her mother asked just as she finished her weaving, that sickly sweet tone used. She did nothing but nodded vigorously, tears staining her pink cheeks.

"None of that. I taught you to be strong. Is this showing you're strong?" Abigail (Sr.) put her hands on her daughter's small shoulders rather roughly. Abigail (Jr.) shook her head sideways in answer.

Abigail (Sr.) let her hands go and immediately wiped the tears that stained her daughter's face. "Alright, get dressed. We're going somewhere." And she took off with a loud click on the door even before Abigail (Jr.) could ask. She still has unshed tears on her eyes, ready to fall down now.

Abigail looked at the door that separated the torture from her. She understood why her parents would let her hear these sounds, she _understands_ now. Fear struck her again as the other room became quite and still. Tears dripped her cheeks, splashing onto the floor. She heard the door click closed and footsteps on the hall, walking farther from the rooms. Abigail stood up slowly, she reached the cold brass knob of the door and opened it slowly. Peeking if there's someone out there. Fortunately, there wasn't.

Moans-she could hear them as she stepped outside. Quiet pleas coming from the door just in front of her. Her mind said no but her heart ached to help the person inside. Her decision weighed on her shoulders, too heavy for her to carry alone. Her heart was thumping and her breathing paced fast. Abigail firmly gripped the door knob, closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. She opened her eyes. And she _wished_ she didn't.

 _Eliza,_ she breathed. Even more tears.

* * *

That was a memory Abigail can't forget and she _wanted_ to erase it from her mind. Seeing a little girl just her age with scars and bruises up her body. Eliza had been whipped and beaten up. It was miracle that she's still alive but Abigail knows that Eliza wanted to die from the spot. Eliza's blood stained her dress mixed with her tears. She knelt in front of the battered girl that day-helping her with all that she can help. Two little girls had felt and seen such pain and misery in a young age.

Now they were adults-twenty years old. Ten years of horror for both of them. Abigail told herself, why she kept on helping this girl. She didn't know, she just did and will never stop. Abigail wrung her fingers nervously and walked stiffly in her tight dress, a robe on to conceal her identity.

She knew it was uncalled for to be in the peasant's village but this is where she truly belongs. The people were happy even though there's nothing on the table to eat. Oh how she wished she could bring Eliza here. She knew that she loved the sunlight as much as she does. But she also knew she can't. It was sad to think for the most part. Abigail couldn't help but smile at the sight of children dancing like they didn't know what the world kept hidden from them.

She guessed she started going to village every once in a week when she hid out from her parents on a rather painful night of scolding and fighting-that was even before Eliza was brought to their house. Abigail knew the consequences but she didn't stop at all. Like helping Eliza, it was almost a duty for her to protect the woman. They acted civil around each other though, it was Abigail's expectation either. She wouldn't even think that Eliza thought of her as a friend or anything, _trust these times is hard to gain for a person like Eliza_. Abigail knew that and she wasn't hoping for anything higher right now. All she cared for is make Eliza think she has nothing to be worried about her. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

And this is where she met _someone_. Someone who could help her, _who would help them_. She felt a tug on her dress, Abigail looked down. "Miss Abbey, are you here for us again?" A boy about six or seven smiled toothily up at her, she chuckled. Putting her large basket down and picking up the small boy, twirling him around. "Why yes Jack! Say, did you miss me?" He nodded enthusiastically, that made her chuckle again.

"Very well then, gather up your friends and let's read something from my basket." Jack let go of her and ran to find his friends. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.

"Miss Abigail, how nice to see you again." Marie greeted her warmly. Marie was the teacher in this village, a cheerful brunette with a happy disposition. Abigail frowned.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Marie that you shall call me Abigail." Marie felt a bit sheepish but Abigail laughed at it anyways. "From now on, it's Abigail."

Marie nodded, "Yes, mi-Abigail." She smiled warmly in response. She noticed then Marie absently resting her hand on her stomach. That caught her curiosity. Marie noticed this and chuckled albeit painfully.

"You may have not have known. But I'm pregnant. After that devastating miscarriage-" Abigail's mind went black, her breathing quickened and her vision had spots. Marie was asking something in concern, but she couldn't hear it. She felt like the world was shaking, she held onto Marie as memories came back to her. Her cheeks became wet. **Blood**.

She could remember that night. Sleepily but alertly walking into a familiar room-her eyes widened immediately. There it was, blood, blood all over around the place. Abigail was shaking that moment, blood was like any other things she saw but this was different. There stood a woman about her age, clinging onto her stomach like she'll lose it. Tears burned her eyes as she understood what happened. The screams and shrieks pushed into her ears, forcefully listening to the waves of pain it held. Abigail ran up to her, the blood seeping down to her legs. Miscarriage. She lost the baby.

 **Eliza lost the baby.**

* * *

 **Chapter:** 2

 **Word Count:** 1,500+ words


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